“Come to me, my boy.”
Then he sprang up, slipped into her bed, and went to sleep on her shoulder again.
His father often beat him—he seldom knew why; but he took the blows for granted.
One day he heard his father scolding his mother.
“Do not cry, you blubbering fool,” he said; “you are only here to make my misery worse.”
“But, Max,” she answered, softly, “will you prevent your family from bearing your misfortune with you? Must we not keep closer together when we are so unhappy?”
Then he was moved, said she was his brave wife, and called himself bad names.
Frau Elsbeth tried to pacify him, bade him confide in her, and be brave.
“Yes, be brave—be brave!” he cried, getting angry again. “It is all very fine for you women to speak so; you sit at home, and spread your apron out, waiting humbly for fortune or misfortune to fall into your laps, just as kind Fate may send it. But we men must go forth into hostile life; we must struggle and strive and fight with all sorts of rogues. Away with your warnings! Be brave; yes, indeed, be brave!”
Then he walked out of the room with heavy steps, and ordered the trap to be got ready, in order to set off on his usual pilgrimage.